


Ivy's Tales of Inktober - 2018

by NovemberVenom



Category: MCSM, Minecraft Story Mode
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fusion, Belly Rubs, If I manage to make it through my plans this is gonna be a slow crawl from zero to Fucked Up, Inktober 2018, Overeating, See? WEIRD, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-26
Updated: 2018-10-05
Packaged: 2019-07-17 22:26:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,734
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16105073
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NovemberVenom/pseuds/NovemberVenom
Summary: The start of my Inktober prompt fics. Within these pages, many strange things will be found- Most notably very obsure tales of the weird and the weirder. It's only fitting for the month of Inktober.(Tags will be added in accordance to additions.)





	1. Radar and the Den of Fire

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: "Slumber"
> 
> Fire Aspect heeds the call to hibernation, Radar following behind her in a way she least expects.

The last thing Radar expected to find was a den. 

He's no hunter, but he knows bits and pieces, like what the freshly dug den of a large predator looks like when it's been covered up. He knows it especially well when he's staring it in the face. Mounds of dirt pushed aside, spread out as to look somewhat casual over the dead grass. It would be less obvious if he'd found it nestled between a bolder and a cluster of trees, but he hadn't. 

It's awfully suspicious to find this sort of thing nestled up to one of the outer temple walls. He's found weirder, though- not to mention he's got a strong hunch of the culprit. 

Fire Aspect, the rowdy fusion of Ivor and Petra respectively, had gone missing that morning, disappearing without a trace. No warning of her departure, no word of her day's plans. One moment she'd been lazily resting on the couch, then the next she was gone. 

Fire Aspect is one of the most powerful forces the Order of the Stone had ever come to face. She’s more than capable of handling herself, and just about every being which had wronged her in the past were most often decentigraded into smoldering ash. If they were lucky, severe burns or a detached limb were left in Fire Aspect's wake. 

So, the Order worried little of something as improbable as her capture.

That didn't mean they were calm by any means. Ivor and Petra, two of the order's strongest assets, composed Fire Aspect. They were two of the pieces which kept the Order whole; To lose them would be to lose the Order of the Stone. Radar agreed readily when Lukas suggested the start of a search. The sooner they found their warrior and alchemist, the better, whether or not the two of them as Fire Aspect had put themselves in any danger. 

Everything considered, Radar safely assumes he's found a trail. Now, he's hot on it. 

Besides the large den, there were few- actually, no signs of an animal having visited the site recently. No recognizable tracks were imprinted into the earth; over the freshly turned soil, no clues of a creature straying from the nearby forests appeared. 

Except… 

Radar squints as he reaches for the topsoil, picking up a long strand of hair which curled slightly once it left the ground. In color, the hair is gradient, auburn on one end darkening to black on the other. 

As if he needed more proof, but Radar will take everything he can get. 

In the circumstances of the past, there would have been no reason for Fire Aspect to have dug into the earth and disappear. If she’d been trying to escape something, raw power and agility would be superior methods of escape rather than to burrow. Not to mention the scene, both at the den and where she’d last been seen, showed a consistent lack in signs of struggle. 

She hadn’t been fleeing from something. The den had been dug with innate purpose. 

What that purpose is, Radar has a hunch on, too. He’s been wrong before, so he chooses not to hold himself to it or let himself get too excited about developments. Fire Aspect is chaotic as she is hot-headed. 

Though it seems with every emerging speck of evidence, alongside the feeling in his gut, points to the reason why Fire Aspect would go and hole herself up in the ground. 

Once, Fire Aspect had been lean and limber. Rightfully she matched the shape of her atunes when it came to body- later, however, her slender stature was overshadowed in favor of Ivor’s bulk which had carried over in fusion for the first time many winters ago. What had also carried over was Ivor’s insatiable appetite, which had nearly doubled if not tripled to compensate for Fire Aspect’s size. The effects of Ivor’s Essence of Winter, the reason his body was soft and appetite insatiable, had carried over in fusion. 

Many winters had passed since then. With that, many changes made to the lifestyles of Ivor and Petra. Petra had chosen to let her body soften as it wished. In combination with Ivor’s bulk, Fire Aspect became nothing short of a wonderful beast in both size and appetite. Soft around the edges, Radar himself often compared her to a dragon- greedy for treasure and food, Prideful of her magnificence, and in some cases? Lazy. Especially that morning, she’d done little more than lounge on the couch watching flames dance in the scorched niche of the fireplace. A fat, lazy dragon. She took pride in the title. 

Radar once feared her, though not anymore. 

The facts added up, each pointing to one solution with a shaking finger. If bulk and hunger had carried over to Aspect, then so had the desire to hibernate. 

Hibernation induced by the Essence of Winter was often sudden, lasting nowhere near as long as true hibernation though just as real in sense. According to Ivor, the deep, dreamless sleep would beacon him for hours until it was finally allowed to overtake him. Overtake him it would, for nearly a week. The effects were similar for Jesse as well as Harper. 

(They’d both followed in Ivor’s footsteps by their own choice. By the time Radar was introduced to the Order, it wasn’t difficult to notice the trend. Hibernation and the Essence of Winter were simply another form of perfect paradise.) 

If he’s added everything up correctly, Radar’s allowed to assume that Fire Aspect felt the call of hibernation that morning. A call so intense in instinct that rather than curl up in a nest of blankets, she’d sought out a den within the earth. More specifically, underneath the temple. The den angled somewhere between downward and horizontal, running beneath the wall through a section of soil that had not yet been dug out to extend the temple basement. 

(It wasn’t as if they needed more room, the temple being a behemoth of its own with just the first two floors considered.)

Radar leans back a bit, weighing his options as he examines the scene before him. The safest and most logical step would be to get the rest of the Order to discuss what he’d found, then devise a plan of how to retrieve their sleeping dragon. 

Radar decides against it. A call to adventure partnered with a burst of courage helps to finalize the decision. He heads for the front of the temple, snatching a shovel from the shriveled flower beds before doubling back to the den. 

His arms are aching by the time he unearths the entrance. The dark of its depths stare at him, so Radar stares back with a sense of pride as to hide his growing unease. 

Fire Aspect was down there, floating in a slumber of unimaginable depths. 

It'd be far less intimidating if he weren’t alone, or as small as he is compared to the apex predator of which he assumes is somewhere within the gape of earth. He’s made his choice, however. 

He’s Radar Lowenthal, _Hero in Residence-_ He’s helped save the world and he’s not going to lose his marbles in fear over something as simple as retrieving a friend. He’s not going to run away like some heroes have, so he huffs loudly, pulls up his pants a little more than he needs to, and dives for the burrow entrance. The shovel is left behind. 

Very quickly Radar realizes he probably should have brought a torch. Not three feet from the entrance, shadows consume the burrow. He adjusts his glasses- _can’t afford to loose them here_ -then keeps crawling. The tunnel is large, but too small for him to stand and too lacking in height for the journey to be comfortable on two legs whatsoever. 

As he moves deeper, Radar swears he can see claw marks in the soil of the tunnel walls accompanied by occasional patches of scorch. Definitely Fire Aspect. Fitting her theme. The soil underfoot is warm unlike the packed, freezing winter ground on the outside. 

\---

Lukas hears it again past the muffled arguments of Harper and Axel. He feels it, almost- a presence he can’t see, followed by a faint shifting and what he swears is breathing. The noise is so distant the others don’t notice or care for it. He tries to focus, but their bickering is too much. 

“Would you guys _shut up?_ ” 

Their fuss quiets immediately, dissolving to clustered murmurs then silence. They stare at him blankly.

“What?” 

“Just be _quiet._ ”

Lukas’s eyes narrow in focus, specifically at the smooth stone floor. The living room is in sonance, fireplace vacant as tending to flames had been forgotten in the ensuing panic of Fire Aspect’s disappearance. 

The noise refuses to rear its head again. So, like the stubborn ocelot he is, Lukas chooses to pursue it. He lowers himself to the floor, ear pressing against the ground. 

“What the heck are you doing?”

Lukas doesn’t even verbally respond, raising a finger at Axel to quiet him. 

He hears it then. A deep, beastly breathing rumbles beneath the floor. However faint, its presence is undeniable, each breath long and content. It’s rough enough to be considered a snore, even. 

Lukas has a feeling about where Fire Aspect is. 

\---

There’s a steady breathing in the den that becomes more prominent with every pace forward, and Radar isn’t sure how much he’s liking this decision anymore. Of course he can always turn back, the den is just wide enough for it, but… 

He’s never found enjoyment in feeling like a coward. No one does, actually. 

Every spec of evidence pointing to their Fire Aspect as the den’s owner is something he has to remind himself of as a particularly pleased growl interrupts the steady breathing. 

The signs say Fire Aspect, he _hears_ like Fire Aspect, yet Radar can’t wipe the images of savage beasts from his mind. Furious roars as he enters the heart of their den, the clamping of jaws on his limbs which shatter his bones in a fraction of a second… 

Absolutely none of this imagery is helped by the den’s pitch black interior. Despite the scorching, Fire Aspect hasn’t left a single spark behind her. 

He really, _really_ should have brought a torch. 

At this point, there’s only one way to go: Forward. So he does, hoping not to scrape a knee on a stray stone, but the soils of Beacontown have never been known for being rocky. 

A few more paces and the breathing is louder than ever, amplified in the tight space. The volume of slumber muffles how hard his heart is pounding in his chest, echoing from his ribcage, prompting Radar to silently beg that it isn’t loud enough to wake Fire Aspect.

The space even feels as though its opened up, constricting walls no longer in reach when Radar strains to brush his fingers over the presumably scorched soil. 

Instead, his hand brushes the warmth of flesh. Foreign hot breath huffs into onto his hand. 

Radar yelps, jolting backwards in the darkness, heart racing faster than ever. 

He’d broken into Fire Aspect’s den, sought her out, touched her face as she slept, then managed not to get his hand mangled in the process. It was one for the books. 

Suddenly her breath stops short, molding into a snort followed by several sniffles. Her large body shifts around him in the darkness, making it clear that Radar’s found himself perfectly in the middle of her curled form. She rumbles, quieting again. 

Radar’s heart begins to slow. 

The process is made fruitless when Fire Aspect sneezes the loudest sneeze he’s ever heard out of nowhere. So loud, he guesses it she could have easily just woken herself up. With the sneeze, light suddenly flares through the den, her stripes glowing with embers in wake of the sudden expulsion. The faint glow lingers, outlining the inhabitants of the den. 

There lay the Aspect of Fire, finally revealed, squinting at Radar like a pleased cat in her dim light. Her eyes barely open, the corners of her maw perked up in the slightest smile. Unexpectedly, there’s another pleased rumble from the fusion’s throat. 

“He _lllo_ , little one.” She purrs. 

‘Hello little one’ is a hell of a lot better than what Radar expected. He counts his blessings with nimble fingers, assuring a softness to his voice in hopes of gaining more. “Fire aspect- I didn’t think you’d be down here!” He speaks quietly. “I’m sorry, I- I didn’t mean to wake you.” 

No one in the order is a fan of lying, especially Aspect’s atunes, but the fusion is half asleep and this is only so she won’t scalp him with her claws for disturbing her. 

(Not that she really would, anyway. Fear and Anxiety love to work together, and they’ve got a funny way of twisting all the possibilities in his brain. With all the force of her demand and greed, Fire Aspect is noble and kind when she feels it is needed.)

In her delay of response he adds, “What exactly are you doing down here?” 

Fire aspect contemplates for a moment. She closes her eyes again, exhaling slowly before answering. 

“Mm-Hmm. Sleep called out to me. I heeded it.” 

“But why all the way down _here?_ ”

Fire Aspect sighs as she stretches, her cheek pushing up as it rests on her arm. She purrs again, “It feels right. I was just so tired.” 

“Well, you look it.” 

Radar cringes as the words come. He’s testing his blessings, now tempted to pinch himself in the side as a reminder of just who he’s dealing with. But, as his sense of greater reason protests, Fire Aspect is true to her word. She looks too exhausted to do much of anything anyways. 

He can tell it's going to be fun trying to get her out of her special den. 

As soon as she closes her eyes again, the den returns to its blackened state. “You should stay a while. It must have been so tiring, digging out my den.” 

As warm as the space is, a chill runs up Radar’s spine. He doesn’t know the ifs and hows of why Aspect knows he was the one to desecrate her hibernation site, but its his farthest intention to find out what it's like to hibernate with a monsterous fusion. He’s sure to slowly scoot out of her reach, leaning against the den wall. 

(It’s not like she can’t lunge for him, wrapping her strong arms around his fragile little body and holding him in her grasp for days or weeks no matter how much he screams and struggles. It's not like she can’t decide to maul him in her delirious state, devour him if she gets desperately hungry… 

But then greater reason pinches him in the side again, reminding Radar that no matter what it may seem, Fire Aspect really does love him. He needs to trust her more.) 

“I don’t think I can stay, Aspect…” Radar brushes his fingers through his hair nervously, combing out bits of soil. “I mean, I came hoping you would come with _me_ , actually. Everyone’s really worried about you.” 

“ _Nonnsense…_ ” She yawns, revealing ivory white canines in another burst of orange light which faded with the yawn. “They are… strong. _Surely_ you can go without me for a little while, can’t you”

Radar’s in the middle of thinking how difficult this is actually going to be until there’s a stir above them.

They both freeze, looking upwards at the roof of her den. He realizes, as Aspect’s stripes glow brighter, that the surface above them is rock foundation rather than soil. 

Aspect’s eyes widen an impressive amount for her fatigued state. “That is… Peculiar” 

She’s not wrong.

There’s a flurry of murmurs above them after she speaks, and suddenly her eyes light with a flash of fear. It disappears as soon as she growls, sitting up and looking at the ceiling rapidly. 

She almost reminds him of a child in her sudden denial; Fire Aspect knows what she’s done, she knows exactly where she is- and frankly, she doesn’t want out of bed, so she’ll fight it with her fiery soul until someone or other physically drags her out. 

\---- 

It was as easy as it sounded. 

Fire Aspect refuses to look at any of them, curled up on the living room carpet, pouting. 

The Order wants to hate her. She’s stubborn, greedy, often unreasonable, because now there’s a giant hole in the floor that needs to be repaired. It’s causing a draft, too. That only makes the rest of them even crankier, including Aspect. 

They can’t hate her. They really, really love her. 

It was Axel’s idea to break straight into the floor. A split-second decision made in the wake of panic isn’t always the wisest, yet, the desperation within them all led to agreement. There were voices beneath the floor and Fire Aspect was missing. They couldn’t afford to mess around. 

Of course, the least they expected was to find not only their Fire Aspect, but to find the fusion curled around Radar protectively while growling furious curses at those gathered around her now broken den. 

Fire Aspect could have easily hurt them if she truly wanted. As she was pulled from her burrow, Fire Aspect did little more than pull against their efforts and continue to complain, frenetic growls dissolving into grumbling complaints as the fusion lost her spark. 

Lukas sits with Radar on the couch, watching Jesse and Harper persist to disturb the fusion, pushing her form which now well and truly refuses to move. Even as the fireplace roars, Aspect doesn’t bother. Pretty soon, they’ll give up too. 

A wet cloth is carefully dabbed over a scrape on Radar’s arm, one he didn’t notice until they’d pulled him out with the aggressive fusion. Radar could just clean it himself, but there’s comfort in help from family. 

“Honestly, I’m not even surprised at this point.” Lukas sets down the rag, switching for a drier one. “It’s not like her to lose her appetite anytime. I knew something was up.” 

Radar just nods in response, watching the subtle rise and fall of Fire Aspect’s belly.


	2. Petra the Elder

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "Elder"
> 
> Petra contemplates her life as the Order's healer.

Petra could have sworn she should have been dead by now. This is what she thinks as she carefully examines a vial with teal glowing within, jotting a few notes down in her journal before setting both the leathery book and the potion on a nearby shelf. 

She feels like with the older she's gotten, the earlier that sleep decides to tap her on the shoulder, pulling her towards the bed and its promise of sleep. Oh well. She could use the sleep anyway. 

(It’s summer and the sun hasn’t even completed its craw below the western horizon, but Petra doesn’t really care.) 

It’s not that she hates life. She enjoys what life has given her, she remembers with fondness what its taken from her. 

Warriors are known to have the highest mortality rate of most professions. Riskiness, constant encounters with beasts of the night, and general stupidity at times when a cool head is most needed is the best guarantee that young, hot-headed warriors live and die as only that. Young, hot-headed warriors. 

It's not always considered a bad thing. Some warriors, Passionate and stubborn as a mule, cringe at the idea of growing old and fat. To lose the feeling of a hilt in their palm is to loose their spirit. 

Petra once thought she was that kind of warrior. 

Once. 

She just has to wonder why the Gods decided Petra, the warrior of the order of the stone, was to be the last surviving member in the wake of the Order’s next generation. 

Circumstances are a fickle thing, of course. There are reasons. Petra just hates the way they add up. Its harder to count those reasons, not to mention count her blessings, when her counting fingers have been reduced down from ten to a meager eight . 

She’s got a love-hate relationship with her right hand. It’s too useless to hold anything more than a dagger, and that was only when her coordination was at its best. Now it’s better used for holding potions. Once in a blue moon her palm will hunger for a blade once again, but she’s accepted that time is behind her. 

She’s an alchemist. Petra the Alchemist. Petra the Not-As-Terrible-As-Ivor. 

It’s still a little surreal to know he’s dead. She’d thought (hoped) some potion would grant him longer life before his time came. 

(A fruitless hope because at the time, she couldn’t bare the thought of losing the only father who’d actually loved her.)

She can’t blame anyone but herself for getting her hand mutilated. Should she have charged a dire bear completely unarmed? No. The dues of consequence were paid in due time; the upfront cost was the right half of her sword arm’s hand. 

Learning to write with her other hand was a bitch and a half to deal with, but it was best taken over other options. Sloppy handwriting is leagues better than none, just like three fingers is better than zero. That had been harder to accept when she was younger. 

When she was younger. It’s difficult to comprehend.

Younger, for her, mostly translates to her once unresting soul desperate for something to fight against. Something to run away from. It wanted something to _be_ but that something simply did not exist in a way she could find. It came to her. 

It’s not what she thought she wanted, but its what she's got. Petra will take it over death. 

She’s still not sure how she’s lived this long. 

After Jesse died, there’d been no Lukas to go to about it, because he’d died of terrible kidney failure two years before. No Ivor, because he was lucky enough to have a heart attack take him before he could live to see the death of his daughter. Axel could only help for so long afterward, because the crazy bastard was announced dead two months after Jesse’d kicked the bucket. 

They say it was a freak TNT incident, but Petra knows better. She can’t be mad at him anymore. That’d been his choice and his alone. 

Olivia, surprisingly enough, was murdered for her place in Redstonia. Who knew Redstonia had its own underground mob? 

The city grew at a hell of a rate after the Admin Crisis, though. 

Even with who Petra likes to call the New-New Order running around the temple like a bunch of heroic little cockroaches, she feels some need to carry the New Order’s (Second Order’s?) legacy in her own way. Their remembrance is beyond guaranteed, The Second Order embarking on adventures and burdensome tasks which surely outshined anything that later generations would ever encounter. Despite that she’s sure to do a little bit of everything- Saving blueprints, recipes, enchanted weapons, all of Lukas’s stories and more. 

Petra’s most surprised she was trusted with passing on Ivor’s potion mastery. 

After the Dire Bear incident, filling in the title of “warrior” had no longer been a possibility. Jesse and Ivor, the angels they were, proposed an offering; Instead, Petra would train to be an alchemist, Jesse taking on complete swordsmanship training in turn. No matter what the stakes were, Jesse was happy with the circumstances. 

(Is it Petra’s fault Jesse died? She took the role of warrior, all for Petra.

She was more of a fighter than a warrior, but that didn’t change much. Petra doesn’t like to think about it.

She also doesn’t like to think about the days and nights full of nothing but tears, resentment, empty vials thrown at walls shattering into so many glass bits that she still occasionally spies the twinkle of flecks between the floorboards. The floorboards have been long replaced. She can’t remember the last time she’s butchered an empty bottle yet the corpse remains hidden in the cracks. 

Maybe last time she was too drunk to remember throwing it, or cleaning it up?) 

Petra feels a lot like Ivor. Except, she’s less of a fan of keeping live pets and more enjoys taxidermy. She looks at the bastard that took her sword hand every day, rung above the fireplace. 

Jesse wouldn’t have liked that. Petra tries to ignore the thought every evening she sees the beast’s dark, dead eyes reflecting embers at her. 

At least Radar thinks having a Dire Bear on the mantle is cool. The kid- wait, no, he’s an adult now… He’s no fan of hunting, but he does enjoy taking whatever prizes he can from beasts. 

No matter how Petra looks at him- regards at the broadsword on his back and the scruffy beard on his chin, his deeper voice and hardy laugh- No matter how she looks, all she sees is that eager teenage boy that Jesse left in charge of beacontown. 

His voice still cracks, sometimes. It feels like home. 

Petra wants to go home. She wants things to be the way they were, when the second order was whole. 

She feels selfish, because the word they live in has never thrived more. Its never been safer, more peaceful, or a better place to live, yet she craves a time when their world was still recovering from disaster. 

Lukas was the one to mark the eras, based on major disasters and the changes of which followed them. The age before the first order is the Lost Era- proceeding their forming, that’s the First era. After the Witherstorm Crisis, the Second era, then the Third after the Admin Crisis. 

If she wanted to know what was next, she could just look in the Atlas. Petra takes it into her own hands instead. She grabs Lukas’s first historical journal, dips her quill in an inkpot, then notes that her death will mark the Fourth Era. 

Egotistical? She hopes not. When she’s gone, it means Radar’s Order will have its full dependency. The people won’t go to Petra for answers, they’ll go to Radar. A disaster will not mark change in their world. That’s the way it should be. 

Well, it’ll be a disaster to Radar, but he’s a lot stronger than she knows. 

Petra glances at the rows of poison vials lining the shelves. There’s also a blackish violet plant that she never moved from the lab when Ivor died. She hasn’t touched it for at least a decade and its still growing, vines gnarled and thick. They’d make a good rope in a pinch. It’s probably what Ivor used it for, now that she thinks about it. 

The Fourth Era could be now. 

Petra decides against it. Thena hasn’t finished her alchemy training yet; the Order of the Stone still needs their healer. 

The Order of the Stone and their old, cranky healer with a past so complicated she could tell them stories every night and they’d never grow bored with her tales. 

It only figures that she’s their Ivor now. She’s got the flowing hair and long robe to boot. She’s not sure if this one was actually his or if she had a tailor craft one based on his old ones. Regardless, the style’s grown on her. So has Radar’s order. 

Just like Ivor, she needs them as much as they need her. Thena comes to her with a lot of problems, as does Radar himself, not to mention Louie’s habit of retreating to her lab when he can’t sleep. 

Louie- She’s getting his name right, isn’t she? Yeah, she is. His name is hilariously ironic and he doesn’t have a clue. Petra couldn’t be more thankful that his hair isn’t blonde, but she should really tell him about the complications of his name soon. 

She’ll stick around for a little while longer. There’s still a lot to do. 

But she’s tired as hell, so bedtime comes before anything else.


	3. Heavy Breakfast

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lukas oversees Petra as she suffers the effects of a Hunger potion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "Chicken" 
> 
> This is where it starts to get a little self indulgent. Read if you're comfortable, I suppose!

Lukas doesn’t know what he expected. 

Hunger potions are always a risky thing, no matter who they’re provided to or what precursor of self control that person may have. Dosage is a concern, not to mention the limits of one’s body and how different potions effect everyone differently. They’re risky enough that its a rule of thumb in the Order to never leave someone alone if they’ve had a hunger potion for themselves- a rule they’re all thankful for. 

That doesn’t mean it's entirely _enjoyable_ to deal with someone driven nutty by their stomach. 

In some cases, it can be- It doesn’t hurt to grab a drink and sit with a friend as they eat to their heart’s content. In fact, it has its own potential to be relaxing, even fun if the food’s good enough. 

Having to act as a parent, though? That’s a different story. 

Lukas is in the middle. He loves Petra, he loves to see her happy, but this is getting ridiculous. 

He’s not as delighted to hear it as he was the first time when she makes another happy little noise, eyes briefly closing in bliss as she eats before her fork pierces another chunk of meat with an eager vigor. Its gone as quickly as the last piece. 

No one can blame her for eating like this, at least at the moment. 

As much as Petra’s known for her valiance in battle, she’s also known to face an enemy which cannot be defeated, their battle rekindling just about every month if her system is working correctly. Its an enemy which works internally, twisting her insides into horrid cramping pain, gnarling her appetite into an insatiable beast, all while her stomach itself becomes best compared to a mouse which has been tasked to fight a lion; meek and frail at best. 

Its a special torture; one they’re all familiar with, because Petra makes _sure_ they’re familiar with how exactly she’s feeling. Though, anyone in the order who has a uterus as well is familiar with it in their own way. Lukas is lucky in that rite. 

And, matching the feeling of a special torture, Ivor pitied her in a special way. Faced with a daughter of which he deeply loves, barely able to eat despite a furious hunger, he thought it’d be a great idea to treat her to a nausea-nulling hunger potion and leave Lukas in charge of making sure she didn’t make herself sick. 

That brings them to now. 

“Petra, this is your third plate of chicken.” Voice resigned, Lukas settles in the seat adjacent to her’s with a similar demeanor. “Don’t you think you should slow down?” 

“I don’t see why! I feel _great!_ ” 

Her voice is way too cheery. It figures. He’s never seen her so happy about food, but its best assumed that far too many things are happening to her emotionally, and if he has the option to deal with a hungry happy-go-lucky Petra over one that might possibly behead him for looking at her the wrong way, then he’ll take it. 

It's still a mixed bag. Lukas hasn’t checked under the table yet, but he wouldn’t be surprised to see her waistband cutting into her stomach at his point, that stomach of which unfazed. Hunger potions are adamant to numb most of the feelings in one’s abdomen to high heaven. He knows it from experience. 

The problem is, he’s most concerned about how unhappy her stomach may be when it ‘wakes up’ from the potion’s effects. It wouldn’t be as great a worry if she was eating something that would be lighter on her system, but the appetite wants what the appetite wants. He couldn’t bring himself to say no when she’d asked for meat. 

So that means if Petra ends up doubled over in agony above the toilet, for one reason or another, she has Lukas to blame and he’s probably going to have to take care of her after that, too. 

If it happens, or _if_ things go fine and dandy for once, but its not often that life likes to be fair to the Order of the Stone. Lukas crosses his fingers and hopes for the best. 

(Chicken with honey and barbecue sauce really shouldn’t hurt if she’s really eaten too much, but at the moment he’s not sure if “too much” is a concept in Petra’s mind _or_ stomach. As long as the potion doesn’t let up suddenly, her stomach is in safe hands) 

Before he can finish the thought, there’s the clink of a fork on an empty plate. Petra looks up at him expectantly, not to mention far too innocently. She’s either planning something, or really doesn’t know any better past her appetite. “Can I get more? I swear it’ll be the last of it this morning.” 

“That’s what you said last plate!” Hearing his own voice, Lukas knows he sounds way too accusing, but it’s all the while he knows that Petra will go as far as ‘one last plate’ will take her. 

As her retort, Petra does that _thing_. That thing he swears she learned from Jesse, where she cocks her head ever slightly to the side and gives him the sweetest, most innocent look he’s seen from the hot-headed warrior in a very long time. There’s not even a flicker of mischief in her eyes. At least, not if he missed it when bright ginger locks strayed in front of them for half a moment before being pulled back behind her ears. 

By the time they’ve progressed five seconds into The Look, Lukas knows it’s a lost battle. His shoulders relax as he breaks eye contact, reaching for her plate to restock it- something Lukas realizes Petra could have easily done herself, if she had so chosen. Yet, he feels her stupid smug gaze smoldering into is back as he walks to the stove. 

“I bet you won’t be so smug when you give yourself a stomach ache.” 

“Oh, shut up, _mom._ ” Petra leans back in her chair, draping her arm over the back of it. “I haven’t eaten that much. Wait, Have I? Oh- _Oh._ ” 

Lukas glances back Petra, not entirely surprised to notice how she’s suddenly attending her stomach. Her stomach, distending painfully into her waistband just the way Lukas suspected it would. 

It really, _really_ figures. Up until now, Lukas hasn't considered what must be a vast amount of sweets that Ivor likely offered her alongside the hunger potion. So he lifts one piece of chicken off Petra’s plate, returning it to the pan before setting the dish in front of Petra again. He was still too gracious to her, not its not like taking off one piece made a serious dent in what she’s getting. 

Upon seeing the food, the concern disappears from Petra’s face, a sunny smile appearing in its wake. 

“Mm-Hmm.” Lukas grunts as he sits back down. “Don’t come crying to me when you start cramping again.” 

Petra ignores him. She doesn’t hesitate for even a second, devouring another large chunk of meat the moment its in reach of her fork. He could say she’s armed to the tooth. 

\--

Lukas can’t remember if hunger potions are supposed to calm every nerve known to man, but he’s too tired to question it. Any embarrassment in Petra has yet to rear its ugly head as she asks eagerly, “Belly rub?” 

She’s so full of herself, full of good food on top of it, that she doesn’t even have the fervor to ask with so much as a full sentence. To put the cherry on top, she stretches slightly as she’s lain on the couch, begging further with a sleepy, needy, half-lidded look. 

He’s lost again. Though he figures he’d lost by the time he had to physically pull Petra out of her chair at the table. At least she’s not asking for more food. Speaking of so… 

“Do you even feel full?”

She perks up at the question. Before she can start, he adds on, “No, I’m not giving you more.” 

He almost laughs as her smile disappears, but stops himself. Lukas knows he’s been a jerk before, but for what food means to her at the moment, that’d be a little much. 

(Of course, there’s a lot of ways he’s been a total jerk about what people eat in the past. Those days are behind him, but man does this ring a bell.) 

Petra attempts to sit up on the arm rest before abandoning the effort, gingerly sliding back onto the soft leather to rest her head on it instead. Maybe Lukas provided her with a little too much, because her stomach looks full enough to be causing some serious pain, at least as it would in him, and he can’t help but notice the way she keeps brushing her hand over it like she’s touching a butterfly’s wing. 

“Oh yeah, totally full. I can’t feel it at all, though,” Her voice starts to sound familiar again. “So you’d better get to work and put me to sleep before I can actually start feeling it.” 

Lukas knows he’s not avoiding this, and it’s not like it’d be an actually hassle to give her what she’s asking for, but there’s still some exhaustedly amused part of him that wants to play a petty role and dangle what she wants over her head. Or, in this case, abdomen. But it’s more metaphorical and physical. Stalling isn’t too petty, is it? 

“If it’s gonna hurt, wouldn’t that just wake you up?” 

Petra definitely sees his smug, stupid little smile, not totally unlike the one she wore earlier. She pushes on a little desperately, “One, Food Coma. How often do /you/ wake up from those? And if I _do_ wake up, you’re gonna bring me a healing-sleeping potion and I’m going the hell back to sleep”

He’ll give her credit for planning it out for him, but Lukas still dryly raises an eyebrow at her, waiting for his cue. 

“...Please?” 

There it is. Lukas gives a fake sigh, just for dramatic effect, and leans down beside the couch. His hand doesn’t even make contact before she just about melts beneath his touch. Although he’s not surprised to find her stomach feels as stressed as it looks, he _is_ surprised to find how plush it feels even under the fabric of her shirt, as much as he’s making an effort to be gentle with her belly. 

It doesn’t take even a minute before she hums happily, relaxing even more.

They’re both known for being dramatic. She’s so happy, Lukas can’t blame her. Not for falling asleep, either, which she seems to have already

The serenity of the living room helps greatly for the both of them. The fireplace stands dormant, charred logs lying in wait for the next spark, surrounded by the packed dust of their predecessors that Lukas swears he needs to sweep out soon. The light creeping in from the windows reflecting across the furniture and carpets is a dim blue at best, all of which it cannot touch appearing grey-black in contrast. Its the perfect image of winter morning; Past the wrinkled draped, lopsided on a hook, they can both see the early winter sun creeping closer and closer, promising little heat as bright as it is. All Lukas needs now is a hot mug and tacky sweater. 

He feels sleep tapping at his shoulder, too, but he decides to wait for Petra’s sake. He’s gotten more than enough sleep for himself. The Essence of Winter is a fickle thing, and her stomach is surprisingly fun to touch. 

Lukas’s attention is torn back to the warrior beneath his hand when she makes something of a groan, and he realizes he’d stopped the belly rubs which had been so graciously appreciated. He resumes the motion, as well as attention to their surroundings. A satisfied smile returns to Petra’s face in a heartbeat, her’s of which Lukas can only assume is as slow as the tempo of time encompassing them. 

In that moment, the young writer has to wonder why exactly he feels so stupidly poetic, because what the hell kind of poetry does he need to spoil their warrior? 

Whatever it is, it's the gentle kind. He just wishes he brought his book and quill, because he still has a hand to write.


End file.
